Bonfire Night
by chasingriver
Summary: John surprises Sherlock with a trip to the country for Guy Fawkes Day. Set in a world with an established Sherlock/John relationship, and not part of the Experiments timeline.


"Come on sweetie, it'll be fun."

John had just surprised Sherlock with a "weekend in the country" and Sherlock wasn't particularly keen on going. The weather in London had been miserable lately, and it had been getting to him.

"We can take the train out tomorrow morning and stay overnight. I booked us a place already - the Snooty Fox – should be right up your alley."

Sherlock had to crack a smile at that, and relented. "Oh, alright. So tell me, what are we going to do in the _country_?" He made it almost sound like two words.

"Well, I do sort of have an ulterior motive…" He actually had a couple ulterior motives, but he wasn't going to spill all of his secrets just yet.

"Yes?"

"They have a real Guy Fawkes Night celebration in Tetbury. I haven't been to one since I was a kid. I thought it would be fun. You know, get out of London, see some fireworks, burn an effigy, the usual nonsense."

"So we're going to go and stand in a field, in the cold, with people we don't know, around a large fire, and burn a newspaper replica of a minor historical figure. And this is an officially sanctioned event?"

"Believe it or not, yes. Although I'm not sure how they still get away with the effigy thing. Most other places only have fireworks now."

Sherlock had brightened up considerably. Bonfires were always fun, and not something you saw a lot of in London, barring the occasional riot. "Brilliant." He beamed at a somewhat surprised John, who'd been expecting more of a battle on this.

"Well. Lovely, then." John had a few _supplies_ to pack.

The next morning, they got a taxi to Paddington, where they bought their tickets. Tetbury was about an hour and half west of London.

"I still don't see why we just don't get Mycroft's car to take us."

"It's a lovely day, and it will take us longer to get out of the London traffic than it will to get there on the train. Plus, I got us some Jelly Babies for the trip. Mycroft doesn't have Jelly Babies in that car of his."

"I'll bet he does somewhere," muttered Sherlock.

John giggled. "Yeah, you're probably right. Come on, let's go find this train."

They passed a rather pleasant hour and a half watching the scenery, eating Jelly Babies, and enjoying not being stuck in traffic. The weather cleared up as they headed further west, and by the time they got to Kemble, it was quite a nice autumn day. John couldn't help but glance admiringly at Sherlock. He was wearing his coat and a dark blue scarf, and looked, well, like he always looked - all cheekbones and dark curls and marble skin and stunning. The scarf though - John was particularly fond of that scarf. It had served, um, _non-scarf_ purposes on several previous occasions. John suspected Sherlock had chosen it to make him blush, but he was determined it wasn't going to work (at least, not while it was being worn as a scarf). They both had small overnight bags, which had made it easier to hide the fact that he'd packed certain _things_.

They took a taxi into Tetbury. The Snooty Fox was in the centre of the town, next to the old Market Hall. They walked into the main reception area.

"Good morning, sir."

"Good morning. Reservation for Watson."

"Ah yes, very good sir. Help with your bags?"

"No, we're fine, thank you."

The first floor was mostly occupied by a restaurant, and they were led upstairs to their room.

Sherlock gave a low chuckle as he entered the room. "I'm guessing this wasn't a random choice of room?"

"Why on earth would you say that?" John couldn't suppress a smile. In the centre of the room was a four-poster bed. Not one of those decorative four-poster beds, mind you, but a massive beast of a thing with a top rail and curtains that could be closed, with posts that were six inches in diameter at their widest.

"You didn't say this was going to be a 'dirty weekend.' I only brought the one scarf."

"That's okay," said John cheerfully, "I packed a couple of extras."

They spent the afternoon at the Arboretum, a short distance from the town centre. It had turned out to be a lovely day, and the leaves were in full colour. It was surprisingly empty, but John supposed most people were off at the fairs and other festivities. Sherlock consulted the map, and casually suggested they head for the most remote area of the park. John casually agreed, hoping they were thinking the same thing, but didn't say anything. After all, it was a nice walk in the park, right? No need to mention to Sherlock that he'd slipped one of those little sachets of lube into his coat pocket. You know, just in case.

After the brisk pace of London, it felt odd to meander down the pathways, but they both slowed down to the pace of the countryside around them. They were walking, hand in hand in the crisp autumn air, surrounded by falling scarlet leaves.

"This is nice," said John. "We should get outside more often."

"Usually, it's raining."

"Oh, right. Well, all the better for being outside today, then."

"Have you ever had sex outside?"

Ah, so they were on the same page. John giggled. "No, you?"

"Not yet."

The search began in earnest for a suitable stand of trees. Or bushes. Or _something_.

Maddeningly, it seemed that the designers of the arboretum had specifically planned it to _minimize_ the chances of outdoor sex. Everywhere, there were single specimens of large, beautiful trees, limbed up so that any activity would be in full view of the rest of the park.

"Well, my love," said Sherlock, beaming, "how do you feel about exhibitionism?"

John wasn't sure how he felt about that at all, but his cock thought it sounded like a simply marvellous idea.

"Um…"

Sherlock glanced at his groin, lasciviously. "You don't seem all _that _opposed to the idea."

John blushed.

In the interests of _not _ending up arrested, they continued on to the more remote reaches of the arboretum.

They eventually found a small clearing that was shielded from the main pathway by a huge, dense cedar.

"This could work."

"You know, Sherlock, the ground looks pretty rocky. It doesn't seem like it would be particularly, um, comfortable."

"Since when have you liked it… comfortable?" Sherlock pushed him up against a nearby birch tree, and kissed him roughly, pushing his leg in between John's and grinding against him. John's submissive side did a little happy dance. He loved it when Sherlock got like this. It wasn't often, but oh, it was a glorious thing.

He leaned into the kiss, revelling in the taste of Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock's body was holding him against the tree, his hands moving to John's arse, pressing him closer. Sherlock nipped at his lips and started to move down his neck, leaving sharp, teasing bites as he went. John involuntarily groaned, and immediately felt one of Sherlock's hands leave his arse, and clamp over his mouth, hard. "Silence, love." Sherlock's low, whispered voice - soft as velvet but with an edge that could cut glass. John slowly licked the inside of the palm covering his mouth and jaw, wanting some outlet for his mouth. If it wasn't words, and wasn't those lips, he'd take the palm of his hand and worship it like the offering it was.

Sherlock's other hand was on John's groin, rubbing his cock through his trousers. John writhed against him, desperate for the contact between them.

Sherlock stepped away, abruptly, removing his hand from John's mouth as he did so. John moved to follow him. "No." John froze.

His voice was barely a whisper. John had to strain to hear it through the light wind in the trees. He hung on his every word, meeting Sherlock's intense gaze. "I am going to turn you around, and you are going to brace yourself with both hands against the tree. You will not touch yourself. You will not make a sound. I'm going to undo your trousers and boxers, and they'll fall to your ankles, so you can feel the cold air against your legs as I fuck you senseless. Did you bring lube?"

John wordlessly passed it to him, and Sherlock smiled. "Good. Anything you'd like to say?"

"I… I don't know if I can stay silent the entire time."

"Are you asking me to gag you?"

"Yes." John's stomach fluttered in anticipation. He loved submitting to this glorious man. It was a rare event, but it was so powerful, so raw and fierce, and his whole body ached with the need for it.

Not breaking John's gaze, Sherlock slowly removed his dark blue scarf, and draped it over his shoulder. Then he pulled him back in for another fierce kiss, determined to make good use of John's mouth before it was gagged. John, eager to make use of his hands while they were still his to use, grabbed Sherlock's arse and pulled him in close, rubbing up against his erection. They were lost in the kiss for some time, eventually making their way back. Sherlock broke the kiss and looked around them for any signs of other people. No one.

Without additional warning, Sherlock spun him around and John braced himself against the tree. He felt the scarf being pushed into his mouth, and opened wider to take it in. He felt Sherlock's nimble fingers on his belt, and then his trousers. He pulled them down with his boxers and they fell in a heap around his ankles. John heard Sherlock undoing his own trousers. He knew it was only moments, but it seemed like time stretched as he stood there, arse exposed to the world below his short coat, his aching need obvious to even the most casual observer.

He almost gasped with relief as Sherlock wrapped himself firmly around John's back, lubed fingers deftly opening and spreading him. This wasn't going to be one of their languorous Sunday afternoon lovemaking sessions. It was going to be a quick, hard fuck in the middle of a public park. And god, that turned him on. His cock was achingly hard, jutting out in front of him. Sherlock's scarf, filling his mouth, _tasted _like him as he breathed through it.

Sherlock lined up against him, bracing himself against John's hips, and slickly pushed inside him in one long, slow thrust. He gave John a brief second to adjust, and then set a blistering pace of quick, hard, deep thrusts that didn't give John any time to catch his breath.

John wasn't sure how long he was going to last. Normally he needed some sort of additional stimulation, but it seemed the exhibitionism was providing that quite nicely, thank you very much. He could feel his orgasm coalescing in the near distance. Although Sherlock was completely silent, John could tell from his pace that he was getting close as well. John changed his angle slightly, and he heard one soft moan escape Sherlock's lips. The next thrust proved it was a good angle for him as well, and all of a sudden, he'd gone over that edge and wasn't going back. His release built inside of him, and then he was coming, shuddering, and biting down on Sherlock's scarf as his vision went white hot around the edges. The feel of John's release sent Sherlock over the edge as well, and he grabbed John's shoulders and wrapped himself over John's back as he came deep inside him, holding him tightly.

For a few blissful seconds, they stayed like that. Then they both suddenly remembered where they were, and quickly looked around to see if they'd been spotted. They hadn't. John removed Sherlock's scarf and dissolved in a fit of giggling. And then Sherlock, although not normally prone to the giggles, started to do the same. Sherlock pulled out of John, and they both quickly dressed, neither of them wanting to get caught _cleaning up_, of all things. By this time, John was laughing so hard he was starting to hyperventilate. "Can't… believe… we got… away with that!" Sherlock was still giggling like a schoolgirl. Flushed and beaming, they joined hands and made their way back to the car park.

They had a bonfire to attend.


End file.
